


Last Light in the Library

by for_t2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Books, F/F, Hogwarts Library Restricted Section, Loss, Paper Cuts, Pre-Battle of Hogwarts, Soulmates, Time Travel, War is hell, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: If Hermione and Bellatrix had anything in common it's that they both liked books, and that they should know better than to try and mess with books in the restricted section of Hogwarts Library
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 11
Kudos: 150
Collections: Time Travel Bellamione





	Last Light in the Library

The library should've been empty. There were mere hours, minutes even, left before the Death Eaters would begin their assault and turn into a battlefield and, well, a battlefield was no place for books.

Madam Pince had spent the last few hours shepherding away as many of the rarest books to safe location as she could, but there just wasn't enough time to save them all. To save even close to a majority, even. She knew it, and Hermione knew it, and it made Hermione impossibly sad.

But still, there she was.

The clock was ticking down, the battle that would end the war on way or another was about to begin, and she wasn't rushing about about preparing defences or hunting down the remaining horcruxes or even trying to run for her life. She was just standing there, staring at the books she had spent most of the last seven years staring at.

She was, in a way, trying to catch one last glimpse before it all got blasted to hell.

Or maybe she was just trying to have one last peaceful memory before she got blasted to hell.

She wasn't really sure.

War was a funny thing. And not funny in the sense that it made Hermione laugh, but funny in the sense that Hermione didn't quite know how to make sense of it. Of how people could fight for something so evil. Of how many people could've decided not to fight against something so evil until it was too late. Of how a slightly bigger part of her, the Gryffindor part maybe, enjoyed fighting more than she'd have ever imagined.

It made her miserable.

Of that, she was sure. She hated the decisions she had to make, the failures and the injuries that followed every attempt to take a step in the right direction, the family and friends she couldn't speak to, he growing list of people who got tortured, who disappeared every single day.

But she kept fighting. She had to. So maybe if she took one last moment to herself, one last moment where she could breathe in the smell of the books, maybe she deserved it. Especially when so many books were about to be destroyed.

She couldn't help a small thrill of naughtiness from shivering up her spine as she crossed the gate into the restricted section. She was old enough - she was supposed to be in her seventh year - and Merlin knows she had already seen enough in these exceptional circumstances, but it still felt like something she wasn't supposed to be doing.

And, somehow, that made it even worse. As much as she knew there was knowledge in the section that probably deserved to be lost, there was so much more that didn't. Every book... 

She stopped running her fingers across the shelf when they landed on an empty book. Old and faded, dusty red, the spine stood completely blank, as if it had never had a title. And when she (carefully) opened it up, the pages were just as empty.

It didn't make sense. Even when she tried a few revealing spells, it stayed empty. What type of charm-- 

"Merlin!" Hermione cursed out loud as the paper sliced into her hand. As droplets of her blood slipped out of her fingers and onto the paper. As she dropped the book right onto her feet.

For a moment, all she could do was hold her hand. It hurt. It really hurt.

Death by cursed papercut was not how Hermione imagined her war would end.

The thought made a very inappropriate giggle slip out of her. Death by papercut. She could just imagine Moody as a librarian, barking for constant vigilance at any student who dared put a book back on the wrong shelf or turned a page the wrong way or...

She wished he was here. Along with everyone else who should've been here but couldn't. Would never be again. She wished that she at least had the time to even think about them.

Instead, she just bent down to pick the book back-- 

Something hard smashed into her head the moment she tried to lean back back. Something very hard. "Merling fucking..."

Someone.

Someone who looked far too familiar to be a stranger.

Something who was staring back at her with an equal mix of curiosity and contempt. "Has no one ever taught you how to respect others' personal space?"

As far as strangers go, Hermione had to admit that she wasn't entirely unattractive, almost the right mix of tall, dark, and intense, but the utterly condescending tone of her voice popped that bubble immediately. Mixed with the intensity, it made her sound like a slightly crazed version of Malfoy. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to get my book back."

"Which book?"

"The..." The book that was supposed to be lying on the floor but was in the stranger's hands. "That book."

The stranger chuckled, almost cackling and still far too familiar. "This is my book."

Hermione didn't have time to play around. Not minutes before a battle. But she couldn't quite bring herself to turn away. The stranger, the strangely not-so-strange stranger, who was in Hogwarts, in the library, minutes before the battle... "Who are you?"

The stranger smirked as she turned the book over in her hands. "Who are you?"

Hermione really didn't have time for this. "You're supposed to be evacuating with the other students."

"And why would I want to do that?"

'If you're in seventh year and you want to stay and fight, you have to go see--"

"Fight who?"

Something was very wrong. She seemed to smart to be lost, too at ease to be genuinely asking questions, and something about her voice was making every hair on Hermione's skin stand upright. Something was very, very wrong. "I don't want to have to ask again. Who are you?"

The stranger sighed with an edge of pretentious boredom. "You're no fun." And then she sneered, only semi-seriously for now, at her. "And you have no right to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing. The heir of the Pure and Noble House of Black needs no--"

Lestrange. Hermione had her wand out before her mind had to fully consciously process the information. Bellatrix Lestrange was here, in Hogwarts, in front of her.

"I'll have you know," Lestrange drawled, her voice getting just slightly less calm with every syllable. "That nobody... That every Hogwarts student who had ever dared point their wand at me or my sisters has ended up in the infirmary. Every single one."

It was impossible. It was the only reason Hermione hadn't already cursed her off the face of the Earth. The sheer logical impossibility of Bellatrix Lestrange being in Hogwarts, right there, right then. Of Bellatrix Lestrange being in Hogwarts and not trying to torture anyone. It was impossible. And she definitely wasn't supposed to look that young.

"Just because you're..." Lestrange's voice shook for a moment before her eyes returned to a glare. "I will make you regret it."

Hermione didn't lower her wand. "Just because I'm what?"

Lestrange scoffed at her. "I don't know where you're from or what you're doing in my castle, but I sincerely hope you've been taught how to read."

"Of course they--" Hermione caught herself before she got distracted. "And what exactly am I supposed to be reading?"

"What do you think?" Lestrange rolled her eyes. "My book brought you here for a reason."

"It's not your book." Unfortunately, if there was anything that could distract Hermione, it was books. "And I think it brought you here."

"Maybe," Bellatrix shrugged, back to nonchalant. "I haven't had time to figure out all the secrets in here."

That raised a lot of questions that Hermione didn't think she wanted the answers to, but it still didn't offer any hints as to why, as to how Lestrange could possibly be here. Nor why she seemed... almost like she Bellatrix of seventh year Hogwarts.

Against her better judgement, Hermione took Lestrange's (rude) advice. She grabbed the book from her hands, almost jumping away at the current of magic that sparked from it, and turned it over in her own hands. It was old, probably hundreds of years, in a thick leather binding that felt like it could last forever.

For a moment, she allowed herself to savour the feel of it, the texture, before opening it to the page that had cut her. The page where her name was now written, in shimmering blood. The page where the name Bellatrix Black was written, equally shimmering, the blood of her script creeping across the paper to intertwine with Hermione's. And that's when Hermione noticed that the book now had a title. "Oh no."

The Book of Soulmates.

She didn't know how, but the words weren't a lie. Whatever magic it was, it was ancient, and it was terrible. "No."

In front of her, Bellatrix cackled. "Your turn, soulmate." Drew her wand on Hermione. Grinned. "Who the hell are you?"


End file.
